


Recovering

by herradurra1



Series: Jigsaw [3]
Category: Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herradurra1/pseuds/herradurra1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rude bites off a little more than he can chew, and Vincent finds a safe place to land following the horrors of Deepground.  Rude/Vincent friendship, some UST.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovering

"You are sure you want to do this?" Reeve looked worried. Then again, Reeve usually looked worried these days. Nothing like deciding you wanted to rebuild the planet, then having it go all to hell on you.

Then…this. Rude nodded. 

"No one else has been able to do anything. We've tried. He made sure everyone else was all right and then…." He looked down at his hands. "This place just seems to make it worse, no matter what we try to do, to help him. He just retreats farther into himself."

Rude gave one more nod and walked down the hall. The doctors had refused to approve the discharge and had instead stamped the file "AMA," Against Medical Advice.

Well, he was a Turk, after all. It wouldn't be the first thing he did that was against sound advice. He opened the door to the room, its occupant taking no notice of him. He sang softly, one pale flesh hand stroking scraps of crimson cloth in his lap. Rude took hold of the wheelchair and began to push it out of the room.

"Come on, baby. It's time to go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rude drove slowly, so as not to upset him. He had limited expertise with the truly mentally ill, not counting that one great uncle who thought he was a bandersnatch, and this oddly sad creature in his passenger seat frightened him in a way he could not name.

It wasn't that Vincent was uncooperative. He slept in whatever inns Rude chose, ate whatever food was put in front of him, and stared out the window of the sedan for a full two days before speaking. The silence had grown so oppressive that Rude jumped at the sound of a human voice. "Where are we?"

"About halfway between Rocket Town and Costa, is my guess."

A dozen or so miles passed under the wheels of the car. "Why?"

"I'm taking you to see my mother. I told you at the hospital."

"I apologize." A trace of the old trademark Vincent dryness crept in. "I have not been myself."

"I'll say. Staring out a hospital window, singing to pieces of your old cloak."

"It was a lullaby. Aeris used to hum it when she was nervous. I was singing it to myself, not the cloak." Miles went by. "It wouldn't stay together, after…"

"I know."

"Why are we going to your mother's?"

"Don't trust you not to go coffin crawling while I'm out of town for the holidays." The answering glare was epic, even by Vincent's standards. Rude answered it with a smirk that said, see, I was right, wasn't I? It was answered by a second glare. It drove their other friends insane, back before the world went to hell in a handbasket, again, this ability to have conversations lasting hours, without ever saying a word. Finally they ran out of huffs, glares, sighs, and grunts, and Rude was forced once again to resort to words. "Look, Costan families are kind of extended."

Vincent responded this time with a raised eyebrow that could have drawn blood. 

So Rude sighed, then explained verbally, out of necessity. "Extended. Large, and a little bossy. Filled with opinionated women. Look, it wasn't my idea to go off the tracks and stay there till damn near Winter Feast."

Vincent stared straight ahead. 

Rude fought back a groan. This was just going to be fucking peachy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He thought that Vincent's brief show of spirit on the road, combined with an actual opinion regarding dinner, were a good sign. But in the middle of the night he woke to his friend staring out the window, singing Aeris' lullaby in the utter dark of the room. 

"Vin?"

"I'll never fly again."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's too quiet. The others can't talk. There's no one talking in my head anymore."

Rude hadn't thought of that. It must be awful, the gaping chasm of silence, the loneliness. "I'm here. Guess I'm quiet too, though." He got up and pulled Vincent to him, just so he wouldn't be alone. They stayed that way until dawn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day on the road, but now at least Vincent was talking.

"I hated Chaos half the time; I'm pretty sure it was mutual. But now he's gone. At first I was just in shock, and angry over everything that had happened. Now, I just feel this, something. Loss. Something."

"Grief. It takes time." Rude knew grief. He had seen it in his mother. He was her only child to survive infancy, and with every tiny memorial, yes, he knew grief.

"Does it ever become…normal?"

"It becomes life."

Rude was exhausted from being up half the night, and apparently looked it. "I'd drive but I haven't done so in three decades. Even then, I didn't have a license."

"I haven't seen anything here but desert and grasslands. I think you're safe. Want to try?"

"Okay." Vincent got behind the wheel and, after a brief time of familiarizing himself with the controls, started the car and pulled back on the highway. Rude dozed off, once he was comfortable that his new driver would not wreck on an empty, straight highway in the middle of nowhere.

He woke some time later, and saw Vincent, his hands on the wheel, window open and the breeze playing in the midnight of his hair, as though no evil had ever touched him. Rude held onto the illusion for a few moments, the bittersweet pain of it pricking at his heart, before asking if he was ready for a break.

When they stopped for the night, Rude called his mother and explained the situation.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"I couldn't just leave him. He's sick."

"So you're bringing him from one crazy house to another. You grew up here, he didn't." She took a drag on her cigarette and blew it out, into the phone. It wasn't often that his mother was aware of just how insane their family could appear to outsiders. "What's wrong with him?"

"He was hurt at Deepground. Before that, well, he was hurt a lot of ways, but I think he'll get better, he just needs, well…" Not being a man of words to begin with, he didn't know how to explain this to his mother. Vincent's courage, his beauty, his strength, his pain. And his own desire to protect him from the world until he could stand alone, again. And so, he found himself telling her all of it, from the beginning.

"Are you in love with him?"

"Ma! We…he's my friend. I care what happens to him. He needs me."

"I thought you were. Fine, bring him here. We'll keep him drunk until he feels better. Always room for one more stray Gods know, the cats aren't enough."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Early that morning, he felt himself being shaken awake.

Rude opened his eyes to see his friend dressed in the hotel bathrobe, one hand on hip, holding a hairbrush. "I can not meet your mother wearing three day unwashed loony-bin pajamas!"

Delightful. Vincent chose the wee hours to rediscover his inner shopping-gay. If he closed his eyes and pulled up the covers, it might all disappear. 

"It's a track suit, Vin." 

"It's something old people wear between eating their gruel and being wheeled out for some sun."

And he had just now noticed. Well, that was a good sign, at least. "Can we talk about this after sunrise? I promise you'll look lovely when you meet Ma." He shut his eyes again. Maybe it would work this time.

"Rude, I need conditioner. I'm frizzing."

He thought about calling Reno, thinking misery would love company, but wasn't in the mood for an 'I told you so.' And he had. Reno's exact words, if he recalled correctly, were that Valentine was as crazy as a shithouse rat. Yes, that was it. The man standing before him in a fuzzy robe wielding a hairbrush and brass claw.

He got dressed and checked them out of the hotel.

The next town was large enough to have a store that catered to bikers; he knew better than to take the man into a discount store. Vincent bought a few shirts, jeans, and leather pants, sticking to the basics. Rude looked up in time to see him bend over to zip his new boots.

Sweet fucking Shiva on a cracker. Had he always looked like that? And just what kind of pervert was he, thinking about doing such things to his friend, whom he'd just broken out of a psychiatric ward mere days ago?

But dear gods, what an ass. And legs that went all the way up to it, too. Vincent held out one slim ankle, encased in a low heel boot with a silver ring, seeking his approval. "Well?"

"Nice." He wondered what it would feel like to have that ankle wrapped over his arm, toes curled in pleasure.

Did he bottom? NO! Shit. Vincent still wouldn't recognize sanity on a street sign. He shouldn't, couldn't be thinking things like this. He'd just had no idea what had been under that cloak all this time, and that baggy, ugly track suit had not done him justice, not at all. 

It was getting warm in here. This shop needed to do something about their air conditioning.

"Ready?" Vincent asked him, all innocence and dark beauty, hair in his eyes, nervously tugging on the waistband of his new leather pants.

Oh yeah. He was ready all right. And his mother was going to see right through him, too.

Shit.

Vincent picked the keys out of Rude's slack hand. "I'll drive." 

"So you're feeling better?" He pulled his mind out of the gutter, and back into concern for his friend.

"No, not really. But I think I'm functional, for now."

"Tell me about it."

"What?"

"Nothing."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vincent

They pulled up to the old rambling beach house, bleached gray and paint peeling from decades in the sea wind. Rude helped Vincent out of the sedan and offered to carry his bags for him but he resisted; it was all he owned in the world, his personal effects that he had taken with him when he had checked out of the hospital and a few outfits purchased at a small town biker store. He grabbed the small duffel, and the paper bag containing the remains of his cloak and hairband, with a kind of desperate terror. The shoe covers, which looked stupid without the rest of it, he had left in Rocket Town. Knowing Cid, he was probably using them to hold the fireplace tools.

The world was not as he remembered, the last time he was human. The last time he could have really counted as being…alive? Yes, he was friends with Rude, but there had been the kind of distance he had in any relationship, the kind of distance forced by the presence of Chaos, who only let him be so close.

Now, he only had the Others. The Others did not talk. Now, he was on his own.

Gods, he did not remember how to do this.

Rude had loaned him a leather jacket; it was a bit big on him but not so much anyone would notice. The clothes he had purchased on the way looked, in his mind, a little badass and gave him a bit of confidence. The whole trip across the continent had been a discovery of sorts. What he liked, what he didn't. Rude had let him drive for part of it, the first time he had been behind the wheel of a car in over three decades. It had come back to him quickly and with it, the joys of drive through junk food, the happiness of a sunset, the taste of a chili dog, the little things in life that could be enjoyed for their own sake. He still felt odd, empty, strange; there were times his voice sounded hollow to his own ears and his body felt a little off balance, as though it were top-heavy. But other times, he caught himself being almost-happy, or something approaching it, and the next second terrified, as though his parents had caught him smoking behind the toolshed.

But behind and beside him, always, was Rude. He had no idea why. But he clung to it like a lifeline and, clutching his bags to him once again, followed Rude through the gate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whatever bravery he had, disappeared into a mist when Rude opened the door. Children of all ages darted to and fro, and a million tiny identical brown women tried to out-scream each other in conversation over mixed drinks and long cigarettes. Half of them spoke a language that he, an amateur philologist, could not even begin to comprehend, while the younger women yelled uselessly at the children. Candles, sconces and lanterns lit what parts of the room that the fireplace did not reach, somehow left unmolested by the running toddlers, cats, and other small animals. Husbands and boyfriends gathered around old fashioned radios, talking politics and trying to make themselves heard.

It was the anteroom of Hell. 

As he shrunk behind Rude and looked behind him for an escape route, one of the women broke off from the group and approached them. She first kissed Rude and then, without so much as a by-your-leave, Vincent as well, speaking to them in a voice like ten miles of a bad gravel road. "You must be Vincent?"

"No, Ma, it's a serial killing hitch-hiker. Of course, it's Vincent." He hugged her hard enough to lift her off the floor.

She craned her neck up to look at him. "I still can't believe you. He just got out of the hospital and you brought him here? What the fuck is wrong with you?" She punched her son in the ribs, but not hard, then hugged him back. "I think I dropped you too many times, as a baby."

Not waiting for an answer, she dragged them both out onto the lanai and stabbed out her cigarette on the glass table. "Let me get you a drink. Do you want something to eat, or just alcohol? I have mulled wine, sangria, rum punch, beer, screwdrivers, or just the straight stuff if walking in here did you in." She counted off the options on her fingers, one by one. "Never mind, Rude, get your friend here some rum, and a mug of wine." 

"He's still here, Ma. Stop talking about him." Vincent didn't know whether to be offended or amused. He decided to go with the latter.

Vilma Cortesa either hadn't heard her son or figured she didn't need an etiquette lesson from the fruit of her womb at ten o'clock on a holiday night. "He looks all right to me. Pretty, too."

"He got his ass kicked destroying Omega and saving the planet. He could use a few days of rest." 

"Oh, this place is very restful, I should know, I'm your mother. But it's nice you know someone more productive than that smacky redhead. Oh baby, is your drink empty? Rude, get him a refill and take his bags up to your Uncle Raul's room."

Rude's eyeroll could be seen clearly behind his sunglasses, but he obeyed. And then it was just the two of them; Vincent remembered that he was awkward around strangers; well, first he remembered that this loud, ill mannered woman was a stranger. But then she patted his arm as though she too was one of her children and led him to a bar stool. She let him be quiet for a while, before laughing softly out of the darkness. She offered him a cigarette, and he shook his head. She lit her own and when she spoke, it was little more than a whisper.

"I am sorry that we are so loud. I am sorry there are so many of us. There are some veterans here for you to talk to, if you want to talk. Several of my brothers and uncles fought. Some did not come back. If you are Rude's friend, I am glad you came back. But it is hard to come back and have nothing to fight, I know, I know because of the things they did not talk about. It is not always so loud here. It is good sometimes to just sit and watch the water, do you understand?"

He did. 

"You always have a room here. But still, my son has no sense." She got up make sure the rest of her family had a full glass of whatever alcohol they were drinking, and to locate another pack of cigarettes, and find out what had become of Rude and the mulled wine.

He watched the water for a very long time, and Rude came out for a while and they were quiet together, and they drank. It was good to have a friend, to remember that even in the silence of his mind, he was not alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He woke near dawn; the night had been surprisingly quiet. The children, all several dozen of them, had wound down quickly and their parents had soon followed. Rude had advised him to call his mother Nannan, as Reno did. The children called her Marra or Tia, Grandmother or Aunt, and he had neither claim. Apparently a Nannan was some kind of adopted godmother, or something. Trust the Costans to have so many words for so many female relatives.

Especially ones that brought unannounced houseguests a morning screwdriver, followed by some uncle or brother walking by with a spiked coffee ("with a nail," it was called in the local vernacular, it seemed). Rude came through and asked if he wanted a beer. At seven in the morning.

Costa was damned pleasant, when the kids weren't around. As if summoned by his thoughts, he felt a warm weight pulling on his lap and before he knew it a child had crawled up on him and fallen back asleep. Gods, it was like a chocobo ranch, where all the chocobos lacked feathers but had replaced them with opposable thumbs.

He moved his screwdriver out of her reach—he wasn't quite sure how young they started drinking here but he thought it was probably past pacifier age—and shifted the toddler's weight to a more comfortable balance. Hells, if he wasn't going back to the coffin, he supposed he could do worse.

Rude walked in and took the child from him. "Ma, if Cissy isn't gonna keep her knees together she could at least keep track of 'em." Then to Vincent, "Sorry. My cousin is um…"

"Active," his mother supplied. "And likes making babies. I'll put her back to bed. You see if Vincent needs another drink."

"Gods, Rude how did you survive this place? It's not eight yet and I need to sleep it off."

"Eh, it's the holidays. Normally I don't crack a beer till nine."

"Ah, restraint."

"Go on and take a nap, I'll get you up for lunch."

"What are we having, grain alcohol?" Rude laughed at him and he shook his head in response. "I'm sorry, I've just never been to a place like this. It's not bad, it's just unexpected. And a little terrifying at first. No wonder they drink."

"But they love each other, unquestionably, and they will love you." He reached over and brushed back an errant rope of black hair, then pulled back his hand awkwardly.

"Yes, I need to find some way of controlling this stuff, it's taking over."

"Don't cut it."

"No, I don't think so."

They stayed in the kitchen for a time, Rude leaning against the cracked formica counter with his bottled beer and Vincent sitting at the table with his drink. Rude was right, the family was loud, and boisterous, but they were also intensely loyal. He wondered how many children had eaten at this table, absorbing the rough wisdom and love of their Tia, that unconditional support of a large and crazy family ready to catch them when they fell.

He saw now, where Rude got it, the calm acceptance of insanity, his silence in the face of no tactful response. And where he got too, his tolerance for Reno. After growing up with his mother, as kind and understanding as she was, Reno must have seemed an absolute monk by comparison.

He finished his drink and stretched out his neck. "I think I will have a nap. It's the holidays, after all. Though, I have to wonder how many children and cats I will have in my bed when I wake."

"Lock the door." As an afterthought, Rude added, "And grease the doorknob."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lunch was a raucous affair and he expected no different. Native Costans celebrated the holidays as they did with everything else, with alcohol and seafood, and he was soon stuffed to misery with lobster, fish, corn, rice, and chocolate. Rude brought him a bottle of wine, a whole bottle, some sweet and potent stuff, so dark he couldn't see through the glass. It made a wonderful combination with the dark chocolate covered nuts served for dessert and before he knew it, he was quite drunk.

"How are you doing?" Nannan was at his elbow, refilling his goblet.

"Rather intoxicated."

She hugged him and put down a fresh bottle. "Welcome home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, he called Cid. He knew his friend was worried sick, and though happy to hear from him, Vincent could tell he was also filled with regret. Cid was a man who fixed things—engines, airships, buildings—and he hadn't been able to accept his inability to fix Vincent. Cid, too, needed a little time to heal.

After a moment of silence, he finally asked, "So how ya feel? Been talkin' to the Turk, hope you don't mind."

He didn't. He would have been more surprised if Cid hadn't been getting regular status updates. "I don't know. It's all so overwhelming. Rude says grief is a process. But it's all so huge. I don't think I can do it."

"Vince, ya know how babies learn to walk? My own mama told me once."

He didn't remember being a baby, and his own chance at raising one had been rather abruptly ended for him. "No."

"They stand up, and end up falling on their ass instead. Eventually they put a foot out in front of 'em to break their fall. Then, sooner or later, they put out another foot because they think, shit, this actually gets me somewhere! So walking is nothing but a controlled fall and nobody learns to do it, meanin' to run a marathon. So how 'bout today, ya just start out tryin' not to fall down? And if you do, get up and try it again?"

It wasn't until he started to laugh, that he realized he'd been crying. The little girl from that morning—Nala, Rude had said her name was?—toddled over and handed him her pacifier. "Binky!" she said, and gave him a comforting pat on his hair.

Between Cid and a two year old, he had one hell of a therapy team. "Ya still there?"

"Yes, just getting more sage advice. Thank you. I have to go return a lost child to its mother, but seriously, thank you. My new friend and I have to go practice walking now."

"Take care of yourself."

"You as well, my friend." He picked up the child, returning the binky to its proper place, and went in search of her mother. Instead he found Rude in the kitchen.

"Get hold of Cid?" he asked as he took Nala from him. "Oh no, baby. Sunglasses are not for babies. What I keep telling Reno. Let's go find Mami, okay?" Rude smiled at the little girl, the white of his teeth dazzling against the caramel of his skin. Vincent felt something old but familiar uncurl in him. He was left in the kitchen alone, wondering what color Rude's eyes were, and if some falls weren't better left uncontrolled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally, it was night, and quiet. The relatives had left and he helped Rude clean the wreckage of the house. Nannan pulled out old photo albums, much to Rude's horror, and boxes of jewelry, including his grandparents' wedding rings.

"Is this a hint, Ma?"

"You aren't getting any younger, son."

"This is why I don't bring friends home more often, Ma."

Vincent just laughed, and it felt odd in his tight chest, but he watched Rude take the rings and a few other items, just to make his mother happy. As much as they harped on each other, the love in the room was like a warm blanket and he forgot the scraping, naked feeling he'd had since Deepground.

When they were done and Nannan was in bed, they sat outside on the pier and leaned against the old boathouse, polishing off the last of the mulled wine. "I wanted very much to die, you know. Had I known it was possible, I likely would have tried it."

"Reeve swore me to secrecy until you were better."

"Are you sure I'm better? I'll never be really sane, I don't think. I don't remember how."

"Not a problem." Rude looked up at the house where he had grown up. "Not used to normal people anyway."

 

The next morning they boarded the ferry back to Edge. 

He rented a room at the Kalm Inn and bought a few pairs of jeans, and shirts, and socks, nothing too complicated, and things he thought he remembered liking before he'd taken his assignment at Nibelheim. He resisted taking a position with Reeve, just yet, but he helped his friend out when he needed it, and helped the Turks out too when they had an old case that caught his interest. Reno in particular loved old cases, and Vincent was only happy to help.

He talked to Rude often, but not reliably. Sometimes, he even used his phone, though he preferred the computer. Something about the man's voice stirred a feeling within him that he wasn't entirely comfortable identifying. And he disappeared from time to time, his only real defense against the things he felt.

Nannan, he visited every time he went to the other continent, curling up in Uncle Raul's room. As it turned out, Uncle Raul had never returned from the Wutai war, and Nannan showed him pictures of her youngest brother in his uniform. He thought that maybe he wasn't the only one who had a hole in his life that needed to be filled. Every time he left, she parted from him by saying "You will come back to see me." He was never sure if it was an order, a prediction, or both.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the morning after Winter Feast.

"So, who's Rude's new boyfriend?" Cecelia, or Cissy as her family called her, put out her cigarette and hoisted her youngest child in her lap.

"Eh, he says they are just friends."

"Tia, you know better than that. No man in leather pants that tight is straight. And neither is Rude. No, sweetie, that's Mama's juice. It has rum. Nala's juice is in the sippy cup." The baby gave her mother a look that said this would only be acceptable until she learned to work the child-proof lock on the liquor cabinet, but it would do for now.

"Well, I think they will figure it out in time. He was with a woman for a while, some bartender with giant tits. They are friends now."

"And then that other woman before her? She didn't last. He needs to give up on women anyway. I swear, he can't not know, I'm the one who caught him with Forchet in the boathouse when he was sixteen." She picked up the sippy cup from where the baby had thrown it and put it back on the table.

"Only because you were waiting your turn with your own teenage boy, as I recall. At least Rude and his boy didn't lead to a wedding in six weeks and a baby seven months later. That one's what, number six?"

"My first was premature."

"My ass, that baby wasn't early, your wedding was late. And you know it. Anyway, I like Vincent. He's going to be my son in law."

"Tia, you can't pick in-laws the way you do puppies."

Vilma smiled around her cigarette. "Watch me."

**Author's Note:**

> Costan culture is basically patterned after Creole here, with Rude being more or less Spanish Creole because that was what he looked to me. Creative license. And there is a place just like this called Grand Isle. And yes, they really do drink that much.


End file.
